


Stand Down

by battle_cat



Series: Together [42]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s not sleeping,” she says, eyes still closed, a tiny smile on her lips.</p><p>“Mm. Sleep soon.” His thumb flicks at her nipple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand Down

They’d both volunteered to take late-night guard shifts last night. Neither of them _has_ to do sentry duty. But Furiosa likes taking her fair share of the work and Max likes the quiet. They’d slept for a few hours between shift change and dawn, but habits of waking with daylight are hard to break.

They’re both used to going without sleep for much longer than a night, but it’s harder without the sharp edge of constant danger to keep you focused. When Max almost dozes off into his midday broth, Capable says, “Take a nap. Both of you.”

Furiosa waves her hand dismissively and Max mutters, “’M fine.”

“The place won’t fall apart if you sleep for a few hours.”

 

Her room is hazy with afternoon heat, the window letting in only a bare whisper of breeze. Now that she’s here she can admit this was a good idea, the kind of small indulgence she has to keep remembering she can allow herself within the rhythms of the new Citadel.

She doesn’t bother undressing all the way, just kicks off her boots and unstraps her arm. After a moment’s thought she reaches under her shirt and unties the cloth she uses to keep her breasts bound during the day. Her shirt feels loose and cool against her skin without it.

Next to her, Max is tugging off his shirt and boots, unbuckling his brace. She flops down on the bed and he slides in next to her, curling up on his side with his face tucked against her neck. His arm drapes over her ribcage, a hand stroking idly along her side on top of her shirt. She lets her eyes drift closed.

It doesn’t take long for the hand to slide smoothly up her torso to cup her breast, thumb tracing a slow circuit around her nipple.

“That’s not sleeping,” she says, eyes still closed, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Mm. Sleep soon.” His thumb flicks at her nipple.

“Bad influence,” she mutters. But she wiggles a little closer to him. 

Her breathing is already shifting, just from his hand teasing her nipple hard. She turns just slightly and his mouth is there to kiss, soft warm lips and tongue and a silent huff of shared breath. He’s got just enough stubble on his cheeks for a delicious shivery scratch when he ducks down to mouth at the hollow under her jaw. She lets heat pool in her belly as he kisses down her neck.

She’s on the wrong side to do anything useful with her hand, so she rolls over him, pausing briefly to grind her hips against his hardening cock. That gets a groan and a laugh, and when she lands on the other side of the mattress his arm curls around her shoulders to keep her close, tucked against him where he’s propped up on an elbow.

The kissing is more heated when they slide back together. His hand is working at her other breast now, and she lets herself melt into the feeling of his touch and his damp breath against her face and his hair between her fingers. It’s nice, to be able to focus on a body so intensely without being in the middle of a fight, to look for twitches of pleasure and desire instead of where the next blow will come from. It’s nice to have that same focus back in return without it feeling like a threat. It’s still surprising and new and a little hard to believe, but she likes it. It stills everything else.

When his hand reaches down to tug up the hem of her shirt she helps him, arching as he pushes it up to above her breasts to expose flushed skin. She gasps when he licks a long stripe along the sensitive underside of her breast, where soft flesh meets solid ribcage and muscle. His tongue trails, hot with cool behind it as the moisture dries on her skin. Her hips are rocking of their own accord.

She’s the one who unbuckles her pants and scoots them down over her ass, as clear an invitation as any. His mouth is back on hers. His fingers skim over her lower belly, a tease until she bucks her hips impatiently. He laughs and she gasps as his hand slides between her legs. An appreciative hum as his fingers trail through wetness, the sounds traded between their barely-separated lips.

His fingers spread her open, sliding and dipping inside her and smearing wetness over her clit and she is so, so ready for it, planting her feet on the mattress to give him a better angle and her the leverage to rock up against his hand, press herself into his touch. Little moans escape her as his fingers circle over her clit, steady and firm, slowly stoking the heat inside her as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

She makes a sharp _mmf_ into his mouth when the wave of pleasure crests and breaks over her, feels the walls of her pussy clench and squeeze down around nothing. Her hand is back in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he teases the last shudders out of her.

She wants to do it again, but with something inside her.

She reaches for his belt buckle and there’s an impatient sweaty tangle before he tugs her pants all the way off and their combined efforts get his down around his knees. His cock slides in easily once he settles himself between her spread legs.

He’s braced on his elbows, rocking gently into her, his face so close to hers their foreheads touch. She traces his nose, his lips, the trickle of sweat that runs down his neck, and then she worms her hand down between hot skin to touch herself.

Her instinct is to be rough, push herself hard and fast, but—“Slow,” he breathes, and he’s going slow too, his gaze focused on her face.

She moves her fingers in slow circles, copying his motion from before, trying to match the rhythm of his hips. It takes longer than the first time, and he waits for her, trailing soft fingers over her face. He keeps _looking_ at her, and there’s something so thoroughly undone about his gaze. Meeting it is like squeezing a fist around her heart, and she suddenly feels like crying and she doesn’t even understand _why,_ but she manages to stay with him almost until the end, when everything is too intense and she has to squeeze her eyes shut and bite back the jagged little whimper that wants to come out of her. In her lost moment of closed eyes and clenched muscles she feels his hips twitch as he spills inside her.

She lies still, breathing out stuttery exhales through her mouth until the shaken-apart feeling recedes a little. Nothing moves except his thumb rubbing tiny soothing movements over the side of her face. She doesn’t realize a solitary tear has escaped down her temple until he smudges it away.

After what seems like a long time he slides out of her, carefully disengages from his pants and kicks them aside. She peels her shirt off as well; it seems an unnecessary barrier between them now. They’re both sweaty and sticky but she doesn’t care; she burrows into his arms with her back against the damp skin of his chest, letting his breathing steady her, deep and even now.

“Sleep now,” he soothes, and she does.


End file.
